


Space&Time

by Hardwood_Studios



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Jim, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Mind Meld, Soulmates, Star-crossed, Time Travel, Top Spock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hardwood_Studios/pseuds/Hardwood_Studios
Summary: [Spock/Jim] Jim is transported to several points in space and time, and for some reason, Spock is waiting for him in every single one.





	1. So You Do Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so we're doing this. I just wanted to let you guy's know of a few things before you get into it.
> 
> 1) Most of the dialogue in this first chapter, not that there's much of it, is in Vulcan. The translations are rough, because I don't actually know Vulcan. I had to rely on a few different translators. If anyone does happen to know Vulcan and finds my translations cringe--worthy, I don't blame you. Don't crucify me. 
> 
> 2) This is an actual chapter story, not a series of oneshots. Every chapter will take place in a different reality, with a different version of Spock, but Jim will remain the same and remember everything from past chapters.
> 
> 3) There will some semi--graphic sex in later chapters, maybe even in the next chapter, so be prepared for that. 
> 
> That's all, folks. Hope you enjoy, review if you did.

I. So You Do Feel

 

Jim woke with a heart--bursting start, utterly confused. His eyes snapped open, and he immediately closed them at the assault of stabbing light. He groaned, trying to turn his face away from the unrepentant beams. He felt sand scrape into his tender cheek, and sand was quick to fill his mouth. He sputtered at the uncomfortable feeling of grit over his tongue and teeth. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, struggling slightly to do so, and attempted opening his eyes again. More prepared for the unobstructed sun, he squinted at the hot grains sifting between his fingers. With a plethora of caution, for the sake of his sensitive corneas, he looked around himself. He seemed to be in a desert, though there was no immediately recognizable flora or fauna to determine the planet. He sat back on his ankles and expunged all the air from his lungs with a hard sigh. Scrubbing over his face rather viciously with the meat of his palms, he tried remembering what circumstances might’ve stranded him here. 

 

For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the past twenty four hours. The last solid memory he had was of sitting on the bridge, surrounded by his cherished crewmates. Admiral Barnett’s paternal visage took up the main display as he relayed the details of a new mission midst their prolonged five year exploratory one. Nor could he recall those mission details. That was at least a day and a half ago, so it stands to reason that whatever went wrong on that mission was the reason for his current marooning. He got to his feet and shook the sand from his hair. He was still wearing his standard golds and black tactical pants, both shockingly still in good shape. His phaser and comm, however, were missing in action. “Well, nothing to do but start walking.” And he did just that. 

 

After an hour or so of trekking through the foreign landscape, Jim could say with absolute certainty that he was not on Earth, nor was it a planet he’d ever visited before. The heat was severe, and he could feel his face sting with the beginnings of a punishing sunburn. If he didn’t carefully regulate his breathing, he became lightheaded. Mountains were starting to sprout in the distance, he estimated about sixteen kilometers from his current position, and sinister looking clouds were gathering at their peaks. They crackled faintly, before spitting out violent pops of electricity. Jim frowned, the faint dip that’d been developing between his browns since waking up deepened into a prominent furrow. If he didn’t know any better, he’d liken this planet’s environment to the original Vulcan. He immediately dismissed the idea; in an infinite universe, there was absolutely going to be other planets with extreme heat and electrical storms. 

 

Despite the worrying appearance of the distant firmament, Jim made for that general direction. The prospect of finding respite from the sun was too tempting. It took him two more hours of walking, in which time he became very aware of a couple new blisters, before reaching the aperture of a small valley. The storm was directly overhead and in full swing, electricity slapping the ground every few minutes. Jim kept tight to the mountainside as he traversed further into the valley. His best chance at survival now was discovering a cave or crevice to take shelter in until the storm had passed. He didn’t fancy going down in the history books as unidentifiable DNA singed into the ground. The mountains rose up around him like waking giants of old Earth epics, and the valley opened up into a desolate canyon. Sand was kicked up from the ground and whipped through the air at dizzying speeds, to Jim’s distress.

 

He pulled his shirt collar over his nose and mouth. His hand was an ineffectual shield against the silt trying to slice into his eyeballs. Visibility was soon nonexistent, and Jim cursed his way through every stumbling step. He heard more than saw the snaps of deadly electricity, and they sounded blessedly far away from where he was huddled. By some miracle or stroke of luck, he came upon a narrow opening. He squeezed himself into the crevice, allowing his head to sag bonelessly against the rock. The break from storm and sun, temporary as it might be, filled him with relief. He took stock of his current shelter. The entrance was tight, leaving him only enough room to crouch. However, the cavern ran deep, and he was able to unfold himself completely the further he ventured into it. 

 

He knew if he went any deeper, there was a good chance of getting lost in a potentially vast network of caves. He let himself drop to the ground, too weary to arrange his extremities neatly. The rock was pleasantly cool on his flushed skin, the sun having taken its toll. “No communicator, no food, no water, and no old Spock from an alternate timeline.” He laughed bitterly. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, reviewing the few details of his dilemma, before sleep overcame him. Though, there was no mistaking the sense of danger that once again woke him. He jerked. His heart lodged in his throat and choked off his next breath. His confusion lasted mere seconds. Deep growls shook the ground beneath him and animalistic, snuffling breaths were close enough to move his hair. Approaching from the unexplored depths of the cave, was a fucking Sehlat. 

 

It’s bear--like paws disturbed the sand across the cave floor. The first details Jim picked up on were its protruding fangs, not unlike the saber-toothed cats of Earth’s Paleogene period, and the sheer size of it. It was certainly as big as a bear, but moved with the fluidity of a cat. Jim knew what a Sehlat was, but reading about its aggressive tendencies and six inch fangs was altogether different from facing up against one. The implications about the planet were immediate, but an investigation would have to wait. Getting his feet under him painstakingly slow, he kept his gaze fixed on the circling predator. He knew that whether or not the storm still raged, he stood a better chance in more open space. He took a slow step back, towards the slit he entered from, eliciting a thunderous roar from the Sehlat.

 

No more prompting was needed. With all the speed and agility he could summon, Jim tore out of the hollow and into the canyon, the Sehlat snapping at his heels. The storm had stopped, and dusk had the sky awash with blood and bruises. He already knew he wasn’t fast enough, and his scream was cut short by the Sehlat smashing into him with its entire weight. His attempts at defending himself were feeble and ineffective, and it wasn’t long before claw and fang ripped through clothing and flesh. He screamed, his upper arm suffering the brunt of a vicious chomp. With teeth still locked in place, the Sehlat yanked Jim to and fro as though trying to dismember him. Jim tried using his legs to kick the massive beast away, but couldn’t get the necessary leverage. God, Winona was never going to get over this. 

 

Suddenly, the Sehlat slackened. Jim heard a sickly, wet crunch; warmth dripped over his face and into his hair. He tasted metal. He cracked a single eye. The Sehlat was dead, the crude spear pushing through its gullet being a good indicator. He watched the life blink out of its eyes, and his own went large with shock. “What the...?” He croaked. The spear was yanked from the limp animal by someone he couldn't yet see. It was then lifted off of him, seemingly with ease, and tossed aside. Jim gripped his bleeding bicep and made to scramble away, should his savior turn into another predator. Upon meeting the fevered gaze of his rescuer, Jim knew true stupefaction. Standing over him was someone with the face of a dear friend, but the expression of a stranger. “Spock...?” 

 

He was definitely Vulcan; the tapered ears, perpetually angry brows, and verdigris flush were all irrefutable signs of said heritage. His face -- he...well, the resemblance to his first officer was uncanny. Jim would go so far as to say this man could be Spock’s clone, or perhaps his barbarian twin. His body was mostly exposed to the elements. Jim took note of the aggravated scarring and smattering of bruises, some colored like summer grass and others almost a memory, decorating his torso. What looked to be the remnants of a thick cloak hung around his thighs, held up by little more than a prayer and some frayed rope. The dorky bowl cut he’d grown fond of was gone, replaced by a bedraggled mop pulled together loosely. He was barefoot and armed with nothing but his spear, which he’d clearly crafted himself. 

 

His expression, or maybe that he had one at all, hit Jim harder than anything else. He looked torn between hostility and curiosity, his upper lip pulled back in the beginnings of a snarl. His level of openness was so unlike any Vulcan Jim had ever met. His eyes shone with their own strange light, and the raw heat he discovered there had Jim flushing for reasons other than the heat. When he finally spoke, it was Spock’s voice, albeit roughened, but -- 

 

“Ra nam-tor du?” [what are you.] 

 

Jim knew fragments of Vulcan, from what little he’d picked up in the academy and snippets of conversation with his comely communications officer. He was surprised. Vagrant or otherwise, how did this Vulcan not know what a human being looked like? Never had he been more grateful for the few scraps of knowledge he did possess. Jim sounded out the words slowly, his unfamiliarity with the language apparent in every syllable. “Kom...ihn. T’nash-veh ahm...tor Jim?” [human. my name is Jim.] 

 

Jim was thrown by the imposter’s expression of profound confusion. “Komihn?” He repeated awkwardly. Jim knew it was the first time he’d said it. 

 

He simply had to ask, “du've worla...puzhu-tor t' wuh komihn?” [you’ve never heard of a human?]

 

Spock’s look--alike regarded him tensely, thoughts flipping across his face too fast for Jim to pin one down. He let his spear drop to the ground, and moved towards Jim in a crouch. Jim startled at his approach and tried to scoot away. Spock’s look--alike stopped him with a firm grip around his uninjured arm. “Du're dash-tor.” [you’re injured.]

 

Somehow, Jim’s unease was not immediately put to rest, but he let the unkempt Vulcan inspect his injuries. Jim found their closeness embarrassing, not that he was willing to analyze why. Spock’s look--alike kneeled between his legs and turned his bitten arm this way and that, his time--toughened hands surprisingly gently. He watched from beneath shuttered lashes caked with drying Sehlat blood. Warmth settled in a few key places, which only embarrassed him further. The weird intimacy to suddenly envelope them was puzzling, but not unwelcome. Soon, Jim started to feel...sleepy. Feelings of calm and yuk were flooding into him, bogging his limbs down. He recognized the signs of a surface meld all too late. “Rai...peh...kaya...” The words were hardpressed to come out, even as a bare whisper. [no, stop.]

 

He fell asleep to the feeling of being gathered and cradled, and his traitorous mind decided it wasn’t the worst. 

 

For the third time in a mere twenty four hour period, he woke disoriented and alarmed. His head was pillowed by something softer than the ground, and his mangled arm felt cold and numb. He managed the strength to raise his head and gauge his surroundings, as well as his current state. He was in a cave much bigger than the previous one he’d inhabited. It was barren of any plant life, barren of anything save for a small fire sputtering a few feet away. His arm had been cleaned of the blood and dirt, as far as he could tell. It was wrapped in a fibrous leaf, possibly the greenest plant Jim had seen since waking on this planet. He could smell some sort of aloe or natural numbing agent emanating from beneath the leafy bandage. His head had been resting on what he recognized as the imposter’s only clothing. 

 

As if sensing those thoughts, his kidnapper appeared, unashamedly naked. Jim first felt awkwardness at how unperturbed Spock’s look--alike was regarding his total exposure, but quickly got over it when he remembered the unwarranted mental assault and seizure from earlier in the day. “What the fuck is your -- !” He started, before remembering the Vulcan wouldn’t understand him. Inhaling angrily through his nostrils, he started over in his broken Vulcan. “Po did du tor ik?” He snarled. [why did you do that?]

 

Spock’s look--alike wasn’t bothered. “Ha.” He said, unrepentant. [yes.] 

 

“Ish-veh kashek nam-tor vaksurik.” He continued. Jim flushed to the roots of his hair. [your mind is beautiful.] Such flattery in a voice so like that of his first officer’s had his body readily betraying him. 

 

He mustered a weak glare. “Ish-veh tvai na' du.” [it isn’t meant for you.] 

 

Spock’s look--alike frowned at his caustic reply, finally showing a fraction of the emotion he displayed before. As if trying to prove something without words, he put himself in Jim’s personal space. While maintaining heady eye contact, he snatched up Jim’s hand and twined their fingers. He massaged Jim’s palm with his thumb and rubbed the pads of their fingers together. It was overtly sensual. Jim knew what that brand of contact meant to a Vulcan, and he couldn’t fathom any one of them initiating such with a stranger. Pleasant sparks seeped through their joined skin, settling in his groin. Jim was mortified by these reactions. 

 

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Spock’s look--alike dragged his opposite hand up the taut column of Jim’s neck. His spindly fingers made to settle over Jim’s psi--points. Jim jerked his face away. “Spock, stop!” He instinctively barked his friend’s name, only realizing his mistake a second later. Regardless, it stopped this Vulcan in his tracks. He pulled back, allowing his probing digits to fall away. He studied Jim’s face with familiar intensity. “Ik's wuh dahr wak du've tar-tor t'nash-veh ahm.” He murmured, tightening his grip on Jim’s hand. [that’s the second time you’ve said my name.] 

 

Jim balked. No, that...that didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense! He was stranded on a planet that bore a painful resemblance to Vulcan, the very planet he couldn’t save. He sat across from a Vulcan that bore painful likenesses to his first officer and closest friend, but said Vulcan didn’t recognize him or speak English. “Wilat tor nash?” He whispered. [where is this?]

 

“Vuhlkansu.” [Vulcan.]

 

Jim was at a loss. He wracked his brain for answers, but none were forthcoming. He wanted to believe the missing link was locked away with his memories of the last mission, but what could have possibly transpired on that mission -- on any mission -- to cause such phenomena? Was he even here, or could it all just be an extremely vivid dream? Perhaps he was lying in sickbay at this very moment, trapped in his own mind. A nude, rugged Spock complimenting his “beautiful” mind and bestowing him with Vulcan kisses was par for the course when it came down to his subconscious, he could admit that much now. Jim buried his face in his hands, partly to hide his thoughts from Spock. If the man before him truly was his Spock. 

 

Unless -- !

 

He snapped his head up. His eyes flickered over the expressive face of his friend. “Tor du...fai-tor Surak?” [do you know Surak?]

 

Shades of confusion and thunderous jealousy played havoc with Spock’s expression. Again, he snatched at Jim’s wrist and gripped it far too tightly for his human bones to withstand. “Tor au nah-tor ki' du?” [does he think to have you?] The ‘before me’ was heavily implied. Jim winced, but was otherwise preoccupied by his own abyssal introspection. Spock did not know Surak, and all Vulcans -- whether they respected his teachings or rebelled against them -- knew Surak. The man was their prophet, their revolutionary, a household name on par with the Jesus Christ of Judeo Christianity. Jim worried his bottom lip sore and swollen. Perhaps...Surak had yet to share his message? But even if this were the past, what would Spock be doing in it? “Alternate...reality?” His face slowly began to light and loosen in realization. 

 

Spock jerked him forward in a childish bid for attention. Jim was inches away from cozying in the man’s naked lap. “T’nash-veh!” [mine.] 

 

Jim was unsure on how to proceed. While he’d had many a wet dream involving similar scenarios to this, what he knew of pre--Surakian Vulcan had his nerves on the fritz for an altogether different reason. Vulcans felt deeply, often uncontrollably, and the teachings of Surak had allowed them to harness logic as a defense against their own wild hearts. This version of Spock had no such barrier and was totally at the whims of his tempestuous emotions. Jim felt the bones in his wrist scrape together under Spock’s tightening vice. “Du dash-tor! Ri spo' du, ri u' karik.” He hissed in pain. [you hurt. not like you, not as strong.] 

 

Spock’s greedy grip immediately loosened, but he was by no means appeased. “Kal-tor zahvan ish-veh kashek.” [let me taste your mind.] It came as a demand, and God, did Jim find that hot. Jim wanted to let him, as he knew there was little chance of experiencing such intimacy with his own Spock, but there was no telling how this primitive Spock might react to the memories contained there. He also proved himself no stranger to manipulation. After knowing him for all of twenty seconds, he’d slipped over Jim’s mind and inserted suggestions without a hint of guilt present. This Spock was many things, dangerous being at the top of the list. Jim decided to do a little manipulating of his own. He climbed fully into Spock’s lap.

 

Their groins were closely nestled, and Jim had never been so grateful to still have his pants. He was doing his utmost to keep an honorable train of thought, though he did distantly note Spock’s physical ‘protrusions’ weren’t too different from his own. He imitated Spock’s advances from earlier, sliding his hands up the sides of a pale throat and teasingly ghosting over the Vulcan’s psi--points. There was a zing of electricity at the brief contact that both men felt keenly, before Jim settled his roaming extremities in tangled tresses. He massaged Spock’s scalp in skillful patterns, and pressed his open mouth to the underside of his jaw. Spock’s arms circled him like he’d done it a million times before, and Jim nearly moaned at those scalding hands finding purchase on his back. “Sanoi, Spock, aishan aitlun tor hal-tor ha-kel.” He whispered. [please, Spock, just want to go home.] 

 

Spock stilled, but didn’t react violently. Jim considered that a small victory. 

 

“Wilat nam-tor ha-kel? Sos ri nam-tor ha-kel?” [where is home. could I not be home?] He sounded completely gutted, and it left a bitter taste in Jim’s mouth. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t his Spock, this wasn’t the right Spock. 

 

“Du ri tor fai-tor.” He tried weakly. [you don’t know me.] Spock tugged him closer and took to nuzzling the sensitive dip of his collar bone. 

 

“Zahv-tor nahp, du zahvan spo' t'hy'la.” [I tasted your thoughts, you taste like home.] Primal and throaty, he delivered this admission through a groan. The meaning of that word wasn’t lost on Jim, though he wished it was. It hurt beyond words for this Spock to desire him so openly, to hold such fierce regard for him, when his own Spock was hopelessly out of reach.

 

“Ha-kel nam-tor irak sad. Fai-tor ri uf tor zaprah.” [home is far away. I don’t know how to get back.]

 

“Yi ri tor trasha, nam-tor t'hy'la!” [then stay, be t’hy’la.] 

 

They shared many things in the next moment. Skin, breath, desire, and very nearly their minds. The temptation was real and living; it wriggled between their chests like a sentient thing. Jim couldn’t stifle the full--body shudder. He’d never been great at squashing impulses, and he wasn’t about to start now. He didn’t know when he’d ever get the opportunity to do so again. One tiny kiss wouldn’t do any harm. He smashed their mouths together with all the pent up fervor coalesced over the length of his captaincy. Spock responded in kind, and it was just as life changing as Jim imagined it to be. So caught up in their melding of lips, it was easy for Spock to initiate the melding of minds he’d been aching for. They slipped into each other so seamlessly, Jim barely noticed, let alone cared enough to stop it. 

 

It wasn’t his first mind meld, but this connection was hardly comparable to its predecessor. It was not knowing the beginning or end of one mind from the other, yet recognizing and appreciating their stark differences all the same. This Spock lacked any form of control or desire to learn it. He stampeded through Jim’s head with all the subtlety of an elephant herd, lapping at every childhood bruise and photoemission formula. He took care, at least, not to alter or erase anything. Jim similarly explored the depths of Spock’s conscious and subconscious. It was utter chaos, whole strings of thought based solely on want and feel. Yet, the layers of complexity were apparent. Even in his current primal state, Spock’s brain functioned like several thousand programs running on top of each other. It was both intoxicating and overwhelming. 

 

It was a learning experience, but a sexual one too. They were hungry to know one another, but also hungry to feel close. Jim thought he might be moaning and gasping like some of his wanton bedmates from the past, but was too far away to tell for sure. If he had to guess, Spock’s mouth was grinding insistently against his throat and shoulders, was his shirt ripped? Missing? Their shared mindscape was natural darkness, and every cognition a natural burst of chroma lighting their path to each other. Jim could already see himself forming an addiction to the feeling. 

 

When they finally ripped themselves from the meld, it could have been minutes, hours, or even days later. Their positions had shifted to a supine one, Jim on his side and Spock thoroughly draped over him. As he suspected, his shirt had been reduced to a pile of shreds barely clinging to his waist. Their breathing was noisy in the quiet of the cave, the fire having long died. Spock was unbearably hot where the cave floor was frigid, and it was a pleasant mix for Jim. They took several minutes to calm their pounding blood and flailing lungs. When he next spoke, Spock was more composed than Jim thought him capable, especially given all that he now knew. 

 

“Ish-veh ha-kel nam-tor maut irak.” [your home is very far.] 

 

Jim laughed without any mirth. “Ek' du tun tor tar?” [is that all you have to say?]

 

“Ri tvai na' t'nash-veh bezhun.” [it wasn’t meant for me to see.]

 

“Hi du've gla-tor ish-veh.” [but you’ve seen it.] 

 

“Glazhau maut...flekh.” [I looked very...strange.]

 

Jim’s chuckle was a little more genuine. “Vel nam-tor maut natya wilat s'.” [things are very different where I’m from.] It was liberating to say it out loud.

 

“Weh-rom do ish-veh.” [I’m better than him.] 

 

Jim raised both brows in surprise at the vehemently possessive tone. He turned in Spock’s arms so they could be face to face. The Vulcan met his scrutinous stare head on, and Jim knew he was neither embarrassed or regretful over his words. “La' il tra'. Nash shi nam-tor ri t'nash-veh, du fai-tor ik.” [here nor there. this place isn’t mine, you know that.] Jim tried to express the wrongness of his presence in this reality with painfully insufficient translations. Spock deigned not to acknowledge, and Jim didn’t mourn the loss of the conversation.

 

A week went by, not that Jim paid the passage of time much attention. He and Spock kept mostly underground due to Jim’s sensitivity to the sun, but Spock’s familiarity with the labyrinth kept them from getting lost. To the contrary, Spock treated him to several pockets of magic within the extensive subterrane. A lot of their time was devoted to an underground watering hole; tire--size holes in the rock overhead allowed natural light to warm the water and brighten the chamber. Much of the rock touched by moisture and sun was carpeted in soft moss. They waded in the temperate water free of modesty or concern and often caught small prey from the deeper parts of it for sustenance. There was much impromptu touching, this Spock was very comfortable using his hands, and impassioned melding. Spock seemed to initiate a meld whenever the urge struck him, not that Jim expressly objected. They took to learning as much about each other as possible, whether through melds or conversation. Jim’s Vulcan improved in leaps and bounds, and unsurprisingly, Spock gained a rudimentary understanding of English. 

 

When they came upon other Vulcans, Jim was jarringly reminded that they were not in fact the only two people on the planet. They were scavenging for fruit above ground, as Jim had grown a fondness for soltar -- an hourglass shaped, red fruit that reminded him of pomegranate. As they endeavored to knock the dry fruits from their respective branches, a group of Vulcans approached. They read as soldiers, with their reinforced garb and armaments. Spock snarled at the sight of them and shoved Jim in the direction they’d come from. His tone hard and no nonsense, “go now, Jim.” Jim balked at being told what to do, but also at the idea of leaving Spock on his own with a potential threat on the horizon. “Spock --” He started to say, but Spock cut him off with an even harsher “go!” 

 

Jim took a hesitant step backwards, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the caves. The converging party must’ve known of their location and meant to trap them, because a small group of warriors blocked Jim from escaping to their shared refuge. “Oh, fuck.” He whispered, and in a slightly louder voice, “we’ve got a problem, Spock.” 

 

Spock whipped around, a loud growl ripped from his gullet. He held onto Jim like he feared the human would be ripped away. The Vulcans had them surrounded in a matter of minutes, each nearly as wild and open--faced as Spock was on their first meeting. They reached for their weapons, but didn’t unsheathe or raise them. Their eyes raked over Jim brazenly, bringing Spock to shiver with rage. “Du nam-tor ri Vuhlkansu.” One finally spoke, clearly referring to Jim. [you are not Vulcan.] Spock ripped any reply out from under him. 

 

“Au's t'nash-veh, trasha etek!” [he’s mine. leave us.]

 

The Vulcans jeered, becoming increasingly rowdy at the possessive declaration. The same one to speak up earlier did so again, clearly holding a leadership role within the group. “Tan-tor ish-veh, ni au mokuhlek nam-tor t'nash-veh.” [give him to me, so he can be mine.] He leered at Jim, his voice ripe with lewd suggestion. Jim suspected he said as much just to get a rise out of Spock. If that were the case, it worked spectacularly. Unable to control the rage frothing in every cell of his body, Spock lunged for the implied leader of the gathered troupe. “Spock, no --!” Jim cried, because it was such obvious bate. It only took precious seconds for three other Vulcans to descend on Spock and deliver a systematic beating. Two others came from behind Jim and made to seize him, but he was no stranger to a fight. In the realm of strength, the odds were stacked against him. He used speed and cheap tricks to give him an advantage. 

 

Ducking low and splashing handfuls of sand in the air, he used the distraction to duck between his pursuers. They were seriously outnumbered. Jim decided to lead the meat of the group on a chase, to hopefully give Spock a fighting chance. He whistled loudly, alerting the aggressive bunch to his position. When they rounded on him, he took off into the canyon at full speed. To his relief, a great many of them followed. He figured his best bet was to lose them in the caves, praying all the while that Spock was hot on their heels. 

 

“Du fam yehat stron!” [you cannot escape.] Similar taunts rang out one after the other. Jim marvelled at their obnoxious and threatening behavior, never in a million years expecting to witness it from Vulcans. He ducked into an alcove that was barely big enough for him to huddle in. One wouldn’t notice its existence unless they were looking for it. He listened for his pursuers to charge past, and only crept from his hole when the sound of shouting and laughter disappeared completely. He backtracked through the grotto until daylight once again spilled over him, quietly calling for Spock as he went. As luck went, his had never been great. A pale hand snagged him by the throat and slammed his back to the mountainside. It was the nameless leader who’d bated Spock so effortlessly. Jim clawed at the hand holding him hostage. “Spock --!” He gasped, wondering what had become of his friend. 

 

The fingers at his fragile, human windpipe clamped down. Distantly, Jim wondered at the throat--grabbing habits shared by so many baddies; he wasn’t thrilled about the necklace of bruising left behind. The Vulcan put his face close to Jim’s, and it was then Jim noticed the hostile presence lapping at the edges of his mind. “Au skil-tor't nam-tor coming na' du.” he isn’t coming for you. The malicious whisper turned Jim’s stomach. 

 

He projected as loud and hard as his psi--null brain would let him, “stay out of my head!” 

 

The Vulcan reared back, noticeably stunned. His hand loosened, and Jim knew he wouldn’t get another opportunity as good as this. Bringing both legs up and into his chest, he pushed the Vulcan back with a mighty double kick to the stomach. He stumbled and fell several paces away. Jim didn’t wait around for him to gather his bearings. He took off down the sloping base of the infant mountain, his feet slipping over shifting rocks and sand. “Spock!” He screamed until his voice was riddled with cracks. 

 

He was slammed into from behind. He and his determined assailant tumbled to the ground in a pile of thrashing limbs, and Jim quickly lost the upper hand. He was forced onto his stomach, the weight of an adult Vulcan more than sufficient to keep him pinned. Fingers fisted cruelly in his hair and yanked. He groaned weakly. 

 

“Du nah-tor tor stron?” [you think to escape me.] The Vulcan above him snarled, smashing his face into the ground repeatedly. Jim felt his nose break on a particularly hard meeting with the canyon floor. He cried out hoarsely. When that brutal grip disengaged from his hair, leaving him to pant in the dirt and drip blood over his teeth, Jim wasn’t allowed the time to feel grateful. His psi--points were immediately sought out. Jim knew the intentions were not merely to probe, but to alter and erase. “Stop!” He wriggled desperately under the unyielding body keeping him captive. Very little in his life had Jim filled with such consuming panic and terror as those first inky tendrils to touch his psyche. His head, everything that made up James Kirk, so easily penetrated and spoiled by the liquid hatred of another mind.

 

When the oil slick filling his head and the weight bowing his back vanished, Jim could’ve cried. He didn’t care who or what came to his rescue this time, just that a rescue happened at all. The relief bloomed around his heart, and a lump sat solidly in his throat. After a few steadying breaths, he pushed himself up and searched for the sounds of struggle. Spock was delivering a vicious beating to the face and upper chest of the other Vulcan. It was gut--wrenching to bear witness to, but Jim couldn’t rip his eyes away. A small, dark part of him wanted Spock to kill that Vulcan. Fortunately, the rest of him was better than that. He staggered to his feet. “Spock, stop.” His voice crackled weakly. 

 

Nearby whooping drew his attention, and his stomach clenched at the sight of the remaining soldiers storming from the mouth of the cave he’d lead them into. “Spock!” He tried again to grab his friend’s attention, but the man was lost to an uncontrollable madness. Scrambling towards the dueling pair, he made to stop Spock’s next blow. Enraged at the interruption, Spock shoved at him blindly. The crazed, glazed over stare of his friend, brother, and tentative lover caught in a bloodrage was his last glimpse of this reality. Jim was knocked to the ground by the mindless jostle. His head cracked like an egg over a rock. He was dead before his eyes could slip shut. It wasn’t quite the noble demise he’d imagined for himself, nothing like the selfless last act of one George Kirk. Little did Jim know, all cliches aside, death was only the beginning.


	2. Highly Uncharacteristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next universe turns out not as pleasant as it first seems.

II. Highly Uncharacteristic

Jim woke to a feeling he hadn’t indulged in since becoming Captain of the Enterprise. He moaned softly, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. He went to straighten his limbs and stretch against the pleasant thrills rocketing through him, but found his mobility restricted. A searing body was plastered firmly to his own, and a hand on the tender meat of his inner thigh kept his legs parted. It took mere seconds for him to shake off the remnants of a thorough REM cycle and realize what was happening. The rigid heat sliding in and out of his body made it easy to figure out, sex being a very familiar engagement for Jim in his more lackadaisical years. A quick perusal of the room told him these were his quarters aboard the Enterprise, but he already knew this reality wasn’t his. Though, there were probably worse realities to land in, he mused. A pointedly sharp thrust had him gasping and shoving his face in the pillow.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind, Captain.” The voice of his First, collected as ever, made his chest tighten. Jim wasn’t sure if he was surprised, or if he would’ve preferred a random ensign over the undisclosed object of his one-sided affections. If he had any doubts about belonging to this reality, they were immediately washed away. “Spock…this is quite sponta—ah!—spontaneous of you.”

“Humans have proven themselves very greedy creatures, especially you, Captain. I know the stress you endure when forced to go without for too long a period. I only seek to relieve you of such a negative mental state.” Spock answered evenly, his hips never stopping or stuttering. Jim found his unwavering composure both hot and annoying.

“I think you just called me a slut, Spock.” He laughed breathlessly. He arched his back, shamelessly pressing his ass into the curvature of Spock’s groin. Spock seemed encouraged by this. He hiked Jim’s leg over his hip and fucked into him like he was trying to prove a point. “Is that not the case, Jim?” He murmured into the reddened shell of Jim’s ear. Jim nearly bit his tongue in half. He might have just discovered his new favorite kink of all time. While he’d never hear his own Spock express such derogatory sentiments in bed, he now had some truly epic spank bank material to get him through tough times. He stuffed his knuckles into his mouth to stifle the build-up of embarrassing noises. Jim had never been so hard in his life. “Tha—that’s really rude – fuck!”

Spock hummed, as if saying ‘you can still speak? unacceptable.’ He proceeded to drag Jim onto his hands and knees. Solidifying his grip on Jim’s hips, already mottled with the telltale yellows and greens of old exploits, he proceeded to fuck Jim’s ability to think into nonexistence. Once discovering the little bundle, he stabbed at Jim’s prostate over and over with the ruthless efficiency only a Vulcan could maintain during coitus. Honest tears sprang to Jim’s eyes, and he felt justified in thinking it was the best sex he’d ever had. He came in less than three minutes, completely untouched. Spock’s orgasm was not long to follow in the wake of Jim’s uncontrollable spasms.

He met his release quietly. Jim wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. Fully expecting to bask in the afterglow with his unanticipated lover, Jim was deeply confused to find Spock making hasty preparations to leave the room. He disentangled himself from Jim with as little touching as possible. He cleaned and dressed himself quickly, his expression cold enough to leave ice in the air. Jim sat up and watched his First with a puzzled frown. When Spock was halfway through punching in the code to unlock the door, Jim finally asked, “got a hot date?” Of course he meant it as a joke, because this reality’s Jim and Spock were obviously an item, but then Spock looked at him in something close to disgust.

“A rather obvious conclusion, Jim, as I typically meet Nyota at this time for breakfast.” He was gone from the room seconds later. Jim was floored. He sat in contemplation, naked and sullied with bodily fluids. He eventually decided that whatever the relationship between this reality’s Jim and Spock, it wasn’t as important as finding a way home. He was at least aboard the Enterprise in this reality, with the necessary technology and resources at his disposal to find an answer. All he could do was play it by ear and hope this ship and her crew weren’t too different from his own. If he were to go about his day normally, he would report to the bridge in twenty minutes. He cleaned himself up and did just that, but not before reviewing the logs to find out their current mission and destination.

He saw a few unfamiliar faces along the way, but most he recognized. The layout of the ship seemed to be the same. When he arrived on the bridge, Jim could almost forget anything was amiss. The familiar greetings and easy camaraderie he received from his command crew was a bittersweet thing and he really wanted to enjoy it. “Chekov, how long until we arrive at Starbase 12?”

Chekov accessed his display and did a brisk search for the requested information. “Forty—eight hours, Keptin.” He chirped.

“Very good.” Jim hummed. He did a quick check—in with the rest of bridge crew, but no one had any troubling news to report. Spock was no less frigid in his acknowledgement of Jim, not even bothering to turn in his seat and make eye contact. Jim shrugged it off and powered up his personal PADD. He spent most of the shift with his nose pressed to the screen, digging through the archives for any data gathered on parallel dimensions or alternate realities. He was disappointed at the miniscule scraps of information unearthed after hours of research. By the end of alpha shift, Jim was gnashing his teeth in frustration. He tucked his PADD under his armpit and stood from the command chair, intending to hideaway in his quarters until his duties evicted him. As the remaining crew gathered their things and filled the turbolifts, Spock stopped him from joining their masses. “Captain, could I have a word regarding these readings?” He motioned towards the adjoining conference room.

Jim wasn’t sure what readings he could’ve been referring to, but knowing Spock, it was probably important. “Sure, Mr. Spock.” He ambled into the conference room, jabbing thoughtlessly at his PADD, and turned to face Spock without looking up. “Now what about these readings - ?” The beeping of the keypad and subsequent click of the locking mechanism had Jim raising his eyes in alarm. “Spock, is something wrong?” Spock didn’t answer, but the apathetic mask he’d been wearing for the better part of the day was undermined by a palpable smolder. He wasted no time in crowding Jim against the table and slamming their mouths together. He hoisted him onto the tabletop and pushed between his legs, clearly comfortable and familiar with the systematic dismantling of Jim’s common sense. His PADD nearly slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground, but Jim had the good sense to fumblingly place it behind him. He clutched at the front of Spock’s shirt like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

Ripping his mouth away and gasping raggedly, he tried addressing whatever alien illness Spock was obviously suffering from. “Spock, what are you doing?”

“You object, Jim?” Spock rocked their shared excitement together. Jim groaned at the shady tactics employed by his First. He struggled to disperse the silky haze layered over his brain, so he might figure out what direction he wanted this encounter to take. He could safely assume this was a regular occurrence for Jim and Spock, and Spock didn’t seem concerned about being discovered. For the sake of maintaining his credibility in this reality, Jim told himself, he met Spock’s advances fervently. “You make it so hard to say no.”

They proceeded to bite, grab, and growl their way through the next fifteen minutes; it was a hard and greedy meeting of flesh that had Jim mindless with euphoria. Spock fucked thoroughly and methodically, but Jim caught glimpses of the animal he could become if the white—knuckled grip he kept on his control were to loosen but a fraction. His face never changed much, but his eyes were wild. His voice kept its even cadence, but the sentiments he expressed to Jim were far from civilized or polite. Jim couldn’t quite get over the idea of Spock talking dirty to him, let alone the reality of it. He met his orgasm sliding across the table, his knuckles caught between his teeth, and his pants a tight vice around his knees. Spock drove into him with increasing aggression and speed, beating the hell out of Jim’s severely abused prostate, until he filled his insides with liquid gratification for the second time that day. 

Jim let himself sag into the table. He felt awkward making such a show of his exhaustion when Spock showed no outward signs of strain, and he’d done most of the work. In the time it took to catch his breath, Spock had already smoothed himself over and had one foot out the door. Jim sat up on his elbows and called out, but the door was already closing on his retreating back. His own Spock could be enigmatic and puzzling at times, but never had he been so dumbfounded by his behaviour. He hopped down from the table and struggled to right his uniform and mused hair. The squelching between his cheeks was an uncomfortable and embarrassing dilemma he hadn’t had to deal with in some time. Feeling more than a little miffed, he waddled stiffly from the room, across the relatively empty bridge, and into the turbolift. The rest of the way to his quarters reminded him too much of a morning after in the academy.

He scrubbed himself down in the sonic shower, whipped the towel over his body, threw a set of casual wear on, but the feelings of annoyance and frustration still hadn’t waned. If Spock was mad at him, he certainly had an unorthodox way of showing it. Next time he saw the standoffish Vulcan, Jim would invite him back to his quarters for a game of chess. It was a comfortable ritual he and his own Spock had taken to indulging in at least once a week. Hopefully, he’d be able to unearth the heart of whatever issue this Spock had with him. 

Coincidentally, he saw Spock again only an hour later in the mess. He was dining with Uhura and looking as relaxed as any Vulcan could. He approached the pair with a friendly grin, and was a little put off by the twin looks of displeased surprise he received. “Captain.” Spock intoned monotonously, the tiniest hint of question in his voice. “Kirk.” Uhura all but spat his name, and Jim was taken aback by the blatant hostility she was leveling at him. Jim floundered for a moment, struggling to remember the greeting he had prepared. “Uh, hey, guys. Spock, I was actually wondering if you’d like to join me for a game of chess later this evening?” 

If Uhura looked offended before, she looked close to murderous now. Spock, on the other hand, looked almost at a loss for words. “I...must decline, Captain.” He finally uttered, before turning back to his dining mate in an act of clear dismissal. Jim was beyond confused and starting to get pissed. 

“Oh...kay.” He left without saying anymore than that. Jim knew when he wasn’t welcome. Needing to vent, he bypassed the replicators and made for sickbay. Ironic, given how desperate he usually was to avoid the sterile dungeon. He clomped into Bones’ office, where the man was sound asleep. He was slumped over his desk, his head nestled in the crook of his crossed arms. His soft snoring had a fond smile touching Jim’s face. If this Bones worked half as hard as his, the wobbly stacks of PADDs surrounding him suggesting he did, Jim knew how much he needed this nap. He felt all kinds of terrible for waking him, but he considered his situation dire enough to do so. “Bones.” He whispered, gently shaking him. 

It took a minute, but he eventually stirred from his coma--like slumber. “Jim.” He grumbled without lifting his head. “You’d better be dying.” 

Jim cringed. “Not quite. But given the opportunity, I might commit murder.” 

Bones looked up at the vague threat. He eyed Jim searchingly, a series of cracks rolling through his body as he sat up and stretched. “Well, do tell.” He drawled, dropping his chin into the cup of his hand. Jim was more than happy to do so. He flopped into the uncomfortable chair opposite McCoy and threw his feet up on the desk. McCoy sputtered at the blatant disrespect of his work space, but didn’t bother trying to correct his wayward Captain and friend. Jim scrubbed his face viciously, before letting his head drop back. “Is it just me...” He started loudly. “...or is Spock being a humongous asshole?” 

Bones groaned and mimicked Jim’s earlier action of rubbing a hand over his face. He peered at Jim through the cage of his fingers. “What has that bastard done now?” 

Jim pondered the implications of that. In this reality, Jim must complain to Bones about his second in command quite often. However, there was no telling if this reality’s Jim had divulged the extent of his escapades with Spock. If Bones knew about the sex, Jim figured it would soon become apparent in their conversation. “I just asked him if he wanted to join me for a game of chess, and he completely snubbed me! You should’ve seen the way he looked at me, Bones, like I was less than the dirt under his nails. He’s been completely frigid all day.” Jim ranted. The look Bones shot him suggested he thought his Captain mad. “Okay, one, why would you invite him to play chess? You’re not a masochist, Jim, not as far as I can tell. Two, that doesn’t sound like news. Spock treats you like garbage, always has. No matter how many times I’ve told you to break off this...thing you have going with him, you won’t listen to reason.” 

Jim tried not to let the swell of confusion leak into his expression. He cleared his throat. “Uh, refresh me? What kind of ‘thing’ do I have with Spock?” 

Bones scrunched his face up, his eyebrows forming an angry vee. He looked frustrated and confused, like he suspected Jim was being sarcastic. “Did you hit your head or something? You can’t play dumb with me, Jim. Look, I know I can be cantankerous at times, but...” His face softened up. “...it really does break my heart, you know? You get so...so worked up over that filthy hobgoblin! He takes advantage of your feelings left and right, then tosses you aside without a second thought. You’re my best friend, Jim. You deserve so much better than some heartless, two--timing Vulcan who only wants you for sex!” 

Well, that certainly answered some questions. Bones knew about the sex and definitely disapproved. The Jim of this reality had strong feelings for Spock, but those feelings weren’t shared, or even respected. Spock was using him for sex, and apparently the feelings Jim harbored were intense enough that he was willing to be used. The ‘heartless, two--timing’ bit, however, caught Jim’s attention. Did that mean...? “Spock and Uhura are together?” He couldn’t help but ask. Bones now looked more concerned than angry. “Okay, really, did you hit your head? Of course they’re together, and that isn’t likely to change. No amount of feigning ignorance is going to alter reality.” 

Wow, Jim thought, he really missed caveman Spock. At least that version of Spock liked him for more than his body. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right, Bones, I’m sorry.” He said, distant and reflective. Whatever the relationship between this Jim and Spock, he wasn’t willing to play that game. He didn’t plan to make his stay in this reality a permanent one. He had priorities, none of which included pandering to this Spock for his attention and touch. He might have some more--than--platonic feelings for his own Spock, but it was easy for him to separate the two, especially when treated like little more than a booty call by this one. He met Bones’ troubled gaze and smiled. “You’re absolutely right. Things are going to be different, I’m done playing his games.” Bones sat up fully in his chair and beamed with pride, but his expression quickly sobered. 

“Now, we’ve had this same conversation probably a million times, and you’ve never agreed with me before. What the hell changed, Jim?” 

“I’ve got priorities, Bones. There are things I need to do, and I’m finally starting to realize I can’t accomplish those goals with Spock breaking my heart every other day.” He said fiercely, trying to convince this Bones with his dogma. It wasn’t a lie; his main priority was returning to his own reality, and he couldn’t do that with Spock shattering his mind twice a day via amazing sex. It definitely hurt, there was no denying that. He might have requested a ship transfer if his own Spock treated him so callously, but he was able to curtail the heartache by firmly and repeatedly reminding himself that this wasn’t his Spock. 

Bones looked so happy in the next moments. Jim knew he’d be disappointed if the real Jim Kirk of this reality were to return, as he’d immediately fall back into to the self--destructive habits this Jim had just sworn off. “That’s great, Jim! I’m so damn glad to hear you say it.” 

They celebrated with a couple mouthfuls of Andorian ale, a gift Bones revealed he recently acquired from a grievously injured member of the Andorian Imperial Guard he’d treated on their last mission. Jim was comforted by the solidarity they shared and the thought that their friendship was one to transcend space and time. He bade his friend good evening a little under an hour later, and was unsurprised to find Spock waiting in his quarters despite the late hour. He steeled himself against the man’s inevitable advances. Spock’s mouth and hands were hot, soul--sucking leeches on him as soon as he walked through the door. 

It took a great deal of willpower to shove him away. The only indication of befuddlement from the Vulcan was a singularly raised brow. Jim straightened his clothing to give his fidgety hands something to do while he sorted his thoughts. When he finally had the words arranged in his mind, he locked his hands behind his back and slotted a look of calm over his face. He cleared his throat. “Spock, I’ve decided to discontinue this part of our relationship. I’d prefer whatever interaction we do have to be in a purely professional capacity.” 

More genuine surprise was leaking into Spock’s body language and stiffly held countenance. He mimicked Jim’s formal posture and took a ground--eating step forward, crowding Jim against the door. “If this is some petty, human act of rebellion for my dismissal in the mess hall earlier this evening, I was sharing a meal with Nyota at the time of your approach. My rejection of your...offer should have been expected.” He stated cooly. Jim bristled. Spock saw his request as little more than a childish tantrum for not getting his way. The blatant lack of respect was infuriating and insulting. “No, Spock, this is not a ‘petty, human act of rebellion’, but thank you for insinuating that.” He snapped. “I’ve just finally realized I’m better than this, better than you.” 

Spock actually looked taken aback. “Jim - ” He started, but was swiftly cut off. 

“I deserve someone who loves me as much as I love them, someone who wants to be around me even after they cum. I understand now, Spock, that you aren’t that someone. All you’ve ever done is take advantage of my feelings for you, and that’s over now. I don’t want to have sex with you anymore, and it’s more than obvious that any kind of friendship is out of the question.” He stepped out of the way of the door and gestured towards it violently. “If you’d kindly get the fuck out, that would be much appreciated.” Jim was doing his best to play up the character, and he found the hurt and anger in his raised voice and balled--up fists to be disconcertingly real. Spock had a defiant spark in his dark eyes and opened his mouth as if to argue. 

“Out, Spock! Now!” He shouted. He’d physically wrestle the Vulcan out of his quarters if that was what it took. Seeming to realize this, Spock slowly vacated the room. He stared Jim down until the door snicked shut between them. Letting his tough--guy facade fall to pieces at his feet, he threw himself onto the bed. Relief and unease coalesced into nausea. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his ship, his Bones, his Spock, his reality. He didn’t want to be a chew--toy for wild Sehlats or a courtesan for this watered--down version of his crush. Amidst the turmoil tearing up his insides, he found his resolve. He closed his eyes and mapped out several avenues of inquest and experimentation, eventually drifting off without meaning to. His sleep was fitful and dissatisfactory that night, his head roiling with sand, stars, and Spocks.

When he woke the next morning and reported to the bridge, Jim knew exactly what his next step would be. “Good morning, everyone, I hope you all slept well. Chekov, ETA?” He dropped into the command chair and booted up his PADD. “Twenty--two hours until we arrive at Starbase 12, if conditions continue to be favorable, Keptin.” 

“Lovely.” Jim answered quietly. He took the next uninterrupted hour to research the similarities and differences of this reality versus his own, namely the catastrophic clash of time--traveling Romulans and the original planet Vulcan. He was relieved, terrible as it sounds, to discover the Narada had indeed made an appearance in this reality too. If Nero had come busting up this timeline, that meant Spock Prime was present somewhere in the universe. Astonishingly, the man still went by Spock, with just the title ‘ambassador’ tacked on the front of it. Jim researched his whereabouts and all he’d accomplished in the year and a half since the Narada destroyed his planet. He’d been at the forefront of restoration efforts, becoming a real pillar of the community on New Vulcan. A small smile wobbled across Jim’s face. 

“Sulu, you have the conn, I’ll be just a minute.” He said suddenly. He stood and made a beeline for the conference room, ignoring the curious looks from his bridge crew. He engaged the privacy lock and sat at the head of the table. The memories of his sordid rendezvous from the day before came unbidden, lighting a fire in his cheeks and belly. He did his best to squash them, but they weren’t vanquished so easily. Sharing every harsh breath because they couldn’t bear to rip their lips apart, shoving hands underneath and inside clothing like teenagers with no patience or control. He shook himself, trying to fling the memories from his mind. He knew it would take some time before he could look his own Spock in the eye.

Without further delay, he logged into the console and inserted a series of coordinates. The video call began transmitting, and Jim waited eagerly for the other party to pick up. He knew it might take some time, as they weren’t exactly a day’s warp from New Vulcan. Five minutes dragged by before the old and wizened Vulcan picked up with obvious – for a Vulcan – pleasure filling in the spaces of his gnarled face. “Jim.” He greeted solemnly, though the twinkle in his dark eyes betrayed him. “It’s been some time, my friend. How are circumstances aboard the Enterprise?”

Jim couldn’t help but smile. Old Spock was agreeable no matter the reality, it seemed. “Hey, Spock. Uh, not so great. But the circumstances aboard this Enterprise, shitty as they are, aren’t my biggest problem right now.” 

Both brows ascended into his graying fringe. “I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate.”

“Well, the other you is an enormous asshole, but that would be off topic.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the…unfortunate path my younger counterpart has chosen to take in regards to his relationship with you. As we’ve discussed this on numerous occasions before, I gather this is not the reason you’ve contacted me from such a distance.” The subtle notes of disappointment and bitterness were not lost on Jim. Grinning, Jim couldn’t stop his exclamation of, “God, you’re awesome.”

“I never tire of your human outbursts in reference to how…’awesome’ I am.” Spock didn’t bother repressing his small smile. “But I believe there was another matter you wished to discuss?”

Jim hunched in front of the small display and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “If anyone can understand my situation, it would be you. I don’t belong here, Spock. This isn’t my reality, timeline, whatever you want to call it. Somehow I’m…hopping realities, I don’t know. I just woke up here, and before here, it was ancient Vulcan. Like, when you guys killed your dinner with sticks and didn’t believe in haircuts.”

Before he even opened his mouth, Jim knew what Spock would say. “Fascinating.” He didn’t disappoint. “What of the original Jim of this reality? If you were aware of my existence, your timelines must have run a similar course. I am also curious as to the ‘hopping’ you mentioned, is there a commonality in how you are doing this?”

“Very similar, but my Spock is a little easier to get along with. As far as I know, there is no other Jim. It’s like I woke up in his body or replaced him. I don’t know what’ll happen to this timeline when I find a way to escape it, if the other Jim will return or if he’ll cease to exist.” Jim felt a twinge of guilt at this admission. “I’m not sure how I’m moving from one to the next. This is only the second reality I’ve woken up in. Before this, I was on Vulcan, but it was a time before Surak had introduced logic. I was there for…maybe a week? With you, actually, or a version of you. I think he killed me. It was an accident; I smacked my head on the ground or something.” 

Concern was a growing shade over Spock’s face. “I’m afraid your situation is much different from my own. You seem to be moving through space and time, dimensions that are both similar to your’s and completely different. You say this is the second alternate reality you’ve woken in with no discernible method of travel, whereas I have only traveled back in time once and with the knowledge of how it happened. While there is not enough data to postulate a real theory on, there does seem to be a common factor in your journey thus far: Spock. What are the odds that you would travel backwards through time and space and meet another version of myself, out of all the points you could have landed?”

His question raised an interesting and valid point. Jim blushed. Maybe the universe was having a good laugh at his expense, embarrassing him with sexual and romantic scenarios involving his crush. Whatever the case, “I just want to know how to get back.”

“Understandable. What circumstances ripped you from the correct timeline? Something must have happened to spark this series of abnormal events.”

Jim sighed, aggravated. “I can’t remember. I was on the bridge, receiving mission orders from Barnett, and that’s it. I have no idea what those orders were. I just…woke up in the middle of a damn desert.”

Spock hummed. He appeared in deep thought for several seconds. “I cannot give you a definitive answer, Jim, I apologize. You must find a way to regain your lost memories. I would also advise you to pay attention to everything that occurs when you ‘hop’ again, as I’m fairly certain you will sooner or later. There must be something that triggers these jumps, and it is important that you find out what. You said you might have died or been rendered unconscious in the previous reality. Perhaps it is death or a sudden and shocking loss of consciousness that causes the shift through time and space. As I stated earlier, you’ll need to gather more data as these jumps occur.”

Jim threw his hands into his hair, tugging ruthlessly on the short strands. He made a host of aggravated noises. “Even if death or shock triggers the jump, how am I supposed to control what point in time and space I land in? There are literally infinite timelines! I could be stuck dying a million deaths! Oh my God, what if I can’t actually die for real? What if I’m doomed to do this for an eternity?” Jim was inches away from full--blown panic, and Spock must’ve realized as much.

“Jim, be calm. I am confident you will return to your rightful point in space and time. I do not have much data to craft a thorough hypothesis, but I suspect the destinations and timeframes you’ve experienced thus far are not random. I believe something is guiding you, even if that something is you.”

Jim studied the fuzzy, pixelated face of his dearest friend and found a modicum of comfort to latch onto. “That’s quite the optimistic theory.” His voice cracked mid sentence. Spock smiled a small, genuine smile. “In any alternate timeline or parallel universe, James Kirk is one to defy logic and expectation. No matter how outrageous the circumstances or seemingly insurmountable the odds, you have always found ways to shatter my perspective and reshape it into what you want it to be. It is not…illogical for me to think that the very fabric of the universe would bend to your whims.”

Jim was touched by the profound level of faith and affection afforded to him by this man, in a multitude of universes. He choked back a light swell of tears and offered a watery smile as thanks. After a few more minutes of prolonged banter and small talk, Jim bade the old Vulcan long life and prosperity. He joined the rest of his crew on the bridge and reclaimed his seat from Sulu. The remainder of the shift passed uneventfully, the quiet chatter of his subordinates lulling him into a false sense of calm. He wanted so badly for this to be the right Enterprise. He wasn’t oblivious to the covert bids for attention from his First. Spock requested his opinion on rather inane readouts at least three different times. Jim brushed him off gleefully every instance.

Close to the shift’s end, Uhura made her way to Spock’s station. They discussed some of his readouts, her hand curling unnecessarily around the nape of his neck. Jim knew it was a gesture meant for him; she wanted him to witness Spock’s complacency with her public affection. She wasn’t oblivious to the two--timing nature of her lover, and while she wasn’t planning to leave him for it, her hatred of Jim was obvious. Then, at a noticeably louder volume, she said “Wuh khart-lan’s vesh peran flekh.” the Captain’s been acting strange.

Spock made a sound akin to a scoff, or the Vulcan equivalent of one. “Tor ri tor ish-veh wuh es’merka tor orenau wuh khart-lan’s komihn rilokav’es.” I do not make it a habit to study the Captain’s human fallacies.

Uhura snorted. She cut a nasty look at Jim, who refused to look up from his PADD or acknowledge the pair in any way. He knew she was flaunting their intimacy in hopes of getting a rise out of him, and he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Neither of them realized he had a rudimentary understanding of Vulcan, and he bristled at being openly mocked on the bridge. When alpha shift was ending and the command crew began filing into the turbolifts one small cluster at a time, Jim waited for Spock and Uhura to pass behind him. He looked over his shoulder and called with a sweet smile, “Ma wuh rom khru, du dahkuh.” have a good evening, you two. 

Uhura’s surprise was stark on her dark, pretty face, whereas Spock’s was something you had to search for. Regardless, both reactions were delicious and thoroughly savored by Jim. Spock nodded curtly, the skin around his eyes puckered in a clear sign of discomfort. He hastened into the turbolift, Uhura hot on his heels with a muttered ‘thank you, Captain’ floating in the air behind her. 

After sharing a light meal with Bones in the mess, he retired to his quarters that night with a hefty load on his mind. If Spock’s theories held any merit, how was he supposed to go about testing them? He couldn’t just off himself, in case death wasn’t the key. The risk was too great. A sudden loss of consciousness was slightly easier to achieve, but not by much. He could always walk up to Uhura and casually mention how appreciative he is of Spock’s ass wrapped in those tight, regulation trousers. That oughta get him clocked into next week. He was completely drained by the time his eyelids dropped over his dried--out corneas. He was asleep for barely an hour before a red alert shattered the silence of his quarters like it was glass. “Captain Kirk to the bridge!” A panicked voice cracked through the wall--comm. 

Jim was dressed and white--knuckling the control panel in the turbolift not five minutes later. The voice carrying through the ship’s speaker system relayed the details of the emergency clearly, if not somewhat rushed. A large enemy fleet, though comprised of much smaller vessels than the flagship Enterprise, was wading through their warp dust. The fleet wasn’t quick enough to catch up mid warp, but it was sticking doggedly to their trail. Who commanded the fleet was still unknown at this time. As Jim strode from the turbolift and onto the bridge, the active crew seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the realization of just how much this crew trusted him and believed in his ability to lead. Spock, Uhura, and Sulu were also present, which despite his hangups with the first two, it comforted him to know some of his most brilliant officers were present to help him handle the situation. “Report!” He barked, and one by one his subordinates rattled off their relevant data. 

They were still six hours from Starbase 12 at their current speed, the enemy fleet was approximately 16093.44 kilometers behind them and maintaining that distance. No incoming transmissions have been received, and no outgoing messages have garnered reply. The formation and flight patterns of their enemy gave no indication as to who they were dealing with. “Maddocks, give me visuals of this sector.” The ensign was quick to throw up graphics of the spacial plane that lay before them. Any planets and large, spectral bodies had been previously mapped by Starfleet, but their scans were able to pick out minor anomalies such as debris fields and gaseous patches. Kirk studied the holomaps in as much detail as time allowed. “Sulu, drop out of warp into quadrant 3A. They’ll take at least twenty minutes to reach the same point, we’ll use the electrical phenomena in that zone as a cloak. I want all offensive systems fully active, be ready to fire on my command.” 

“Understood, Captain.” Sulu acknowledged. From his peripheries, Jim watched Spock step into the space beside him. “Captain, if I may.” He started tonelessly. Jim grunted, a polite way of saying ‘get the fuck on with it.’ “Would it not be more prudent to increase warp so we might reach Starbase 12 expeditiously, giving us ample time to amass reinforcements and inform Starfleet of this situation?”

“We should have already been working to inform Starfleet of this situation, and Starbase 12 is not a military locale. It’s mostly a civilian refuge; if there are any combat ready ships available, the encroaching fleet would still have us vastly outnumbered. We are now within close enough range to contact Starbase 12, we can alert them of our situation and request they send any backup readily available to our coordinates. I’d feel more comfortable assessing this threat without putting civilian lives at risk, Mr. Spock.” 

The bridge had quieted during his thorough dismantling of Spock’s suggestion, and he was relieved to note most of his crewmen were giving him looks of awe and admiration. Uhura, predictably, was melting holes in his face with the heat of her glare. Spock looked...unreadable, though he held their eye contact for longer than Jim expected him too. Finally, “yes, Captain, you are correct in your assessment. Uhura, please alert Starbase 12 of our delayed arrival if you have not already done so.” He gave this order to Uhura without taking his eyes off Jim. She bristled, shock and fury barely concealed by the mask of professionalism slotted over her dusky face, before acting to comply. Jim pushed his uneasiness aside. Now was absolutely not the time to ponder on his shitty position in an alternate reality’s love triangle. 

Quadrant 3A came on them fast, and the telltale turbulence and clatter of the Enterprise dropping out of warp rattled the nerves of everyone aboard. As the scans had indicated earlier, they descended into a minor electrical storm. It spanned several hundred thousand kilometers, but the electrical activity itself wasn’t enough to interfere with their systems or keep them from engaging warp. The next twenty minutes were spent maneuvering through the storm and situating their ship as tactfully as possible given her size. Scans of the surrounding space ran on a loop, updating every half a second. Tension was a cloying presence on the bridge, but his crew remained cool and steadfast. Jim was extremely proud, even though this wasn’t his crew. Suddenly, their wait was over. The fleet of unknowns blipped into existence on their scans. Their cover remained in tact, as the fleet made no moves to venture further into the storm. “Uhura, hail them on all frequencies, but be absolutely sure any outgoing transmissions are scrambled, we can’t have them pin our position.” 

Uhura immediately set to punching commands into her console, and Jim felt a little guilty for assuming she’d sass him or refuse despite the severity of their situation. After a minute or so of terse silence, she straightened and whipped back to face him. Her fingers were pressed hard against the tiny comm in her ear, the tips of them turning pale. “Captain, we’ve received a reply. There’s an incoming video transmission.” 

“Put it up.” He answered immediately. 

The transmission was cast to the main bridge display, and Jim wasted no time in linking their own live feed. Jim recognized their enemies to be Cardassians. Once highly enlightened and cultured, the Cardassians became fiercely militaristic in order to survive unfavorable conditions on their home planet. Their totalitarian ways led to conflict with other space faring powers, like the Federation. Or at least that was what Jim could recall learning in the Academy. He’d never had a personal encounter until now. The presence on screen was grim and intimidating. His face was skeletal and lined with harsh ridges, similar to a Klingon but not as severe looking. Hair, dark and oiled, pulled taut across his scalp and swept into a long tail at the top of his head. Unsurprisingly, he was armored to the nines. Jim felt exposed in his thin, regulation golds. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation vessel, USS Enterprise. Your fleet has been tailing us through warp since we passed through the star system Myoda 2.7 hours ago. Explain now, or we will be left no choice but to defend ourselves.” 

The alien onscreen scoffed, and Jim was immediately indignant. “Federation scum.” Standard not being his maiden tongue, he ground the words out awkwardly. “We know who you are, we know which vessel you command.” He then smiled, and that was never a positive sign. “We are aware your vessel outclasses our own fleet in speed and firepower, we do not wish to fight.” 

Jim almost groaned aloud. Why not just come on screen and announce ‘hey, we know you could kick our ass in an actual fight, so we’re going to set a trap instead’? “Uh-huh. So uh, were you wishing for our peaceful surrender instead or...?” He trailed off, the sarcasm thick in his throat missed by no one. A couple of his crew were fighting smiles. The Cardassian suffered no such dilemma, his earlier grin quick to disappear. He spit something nasty in his mother tongue. “You think you are untouchable, you are not. Do not take us so lightly, Kirk.” He’d heard his name spoken like a curse many times before, never quite like that. 

Hardening his face and leaning so his elbows dug into his legs, he said, “don’t worry, I’m feeling quite serious. You’re unsolicited presence is a threat to the lives of this crew, and I tend to take threats of such nature quite seriously. I will blast your ass out of the sky in the next twenty seconds if you’re still present in this quadrant.” The Cardassian looked taken aback for half a second, but any wrinkles of expression were quick to smooth out. “I see. If you’re not willing to engage in a peaceful discussion...” He glanced to one of his subordinates offscreen and nodded. Before Jim could fully process the minute gesture, “Captain! We’re taking fire!” The Enterprise rocked from the force of a surprise offensive. Jim instantly cut the live feed. “What the hell was that?” He glanced first to Spock, then turned to face his navigation duo. Sulu piped up, “they have a superior cloaking ability we were not aware of, Captain! I’m not sure how they knew our position, but we never picked up the approach of any enemy craft. We’re still having trouble locking on, sir!” 

Two more blasts shook the ship and thrashed her crew. Their shields were taking 97% of the blast damage, but shielding wasn’t a permanent solution. The Cardassian’s incoming transmission was still live and on screen. He was laughing. “Are you a little more willing to talk now, Kirk?” He crooned. Jim didn’t answer right away, instead calling for a brief report from all stations. The ship had sustained little to no damage and their shields were holding up nicely. However, tracking the cloaked cruisers was proving a challenge. In the thirty seconds or so it took for his crew to holler out their status updates, there was no turbulence to indicate they were still being fired upon. Jim took a deep breath through his nose, then resumed the live feed of his bridge. 

“And what did you want to talk about.” He asked plainly, trying to embody the logical nature of his First. The Cardassian’s had a bit of an advantage over them, but Jim was confident in this crew. While stealth and invisibility are valuable assets in such standoffs, shooting from the shadows won’t do much good if your bullets are made of paper. There was a slim chance the Cardassian’s had a more powerful armament and were waiting to take them off guard with it, but Jim doubted that to be so. He was almost certain their superior cloaking ability was also their only leverage. 

The Cardassian Captain, still nameless, leaned back in his command chair. He was pleased with himself. “You and I will meet midway via shuttlecraft, you may bring one officer. There are terms I wish to discuss in person.” Predictably, certain officers were quick to object. 

“Captain, I must - ” Spock started, only for Jim to silence him with a hand. Addressing the Cardassian, “would you mind if I took a moment to speak with my crew?” Jim asked. Smugly, the Cardassian agreed to his request. Jim muted their broadcast, and was promptly blasted by protests from several of his bridgecrew. 

“Captain, this feels like a trap.” Sulu.

“Kirk, you can’t be seriously considering this?” Uhura.

“Captain, I cannot allow you to venture from the Enterprise for what is most certainly a ploy to take one of our commanding officers hostage.” Spock, and who the fuck does this version of Spock think he is? That he could forbid Jim from doing anything? 

Slapping a lid on his simmering anger, he called for quiet on the bridge. “We’re all on the same page that this is a trap, I’m not arguing that.” He started. “But here’s what I’m thinking: the Cardassian fleet’s biggest advantage over us is their ability to remain cloaked and difficult to track. Their biggest weakness? Their firepower is limited and relatively ineffective against our deflector shields. We can also assume they don’t have the ability to cloak every ship in their fleet, as most of their ships are still active on our scans. If I meet their Captain midway - ” Spock started to interrupt but Jim levied him with a harsh look. “ - this would give us the time we need to get a lock on their cloaked cruisers. Once we can confidently track their movements, we launch an attack on all active vessels in their fleet.” 

A brief, contemplative silence followed. Jim continued before Spock had a chance to publicly eviscerate his plan. “Sulu, where are we on tracking these douchebags?” 

Sulu almost smiled at his unprofessional quip, but remained solemn faced as he explained their attempts at trying to expose the cruisers. Jim nodded through his speculative guesses on what type of tech could offer such a seamless cloak. “Obviously the cruisers won’t respond if we try hailing them, but they have to be communicating with each other and the mother fleet. If we can’t pull their location on the scans, maybe we can track their movements by hacking into their comms. Uhura, is that possible?” 

She looked in deep thought, before straightening in her seat and tapping a staccato across her console. “yes, Captain, I believe I can isolate and intercept their transmissions.” Jim nodded, his pleasure a palpable thing. It seemed she was the best at what she did in any reality. “Excellent.” Jim jumped to his feet and clapped once, loud enough to recapture the undivided attention of the bridge. He reopened their video link with the Cardassian bridge. “I agree to your terms. I will meet you via shuttlecraft at the midway point with one officer of my choosing, we’ll discuss whatever it is you desire. In exchange, the safety of my ship and its crew must be guaranteed. If any harm comes to this vessel, my men are under orders to fire on your fleet.”

The Cardassian Captain gnashed an ugly smile. “We are pleased to hear of your cooperation, Captain. We will converge on the midway point for our meeting at the top of your solar hour.” The transmission cut out, and Jim made a beeline for the turbolift. “Uhura.” He called. She answered without looking up from her work, “I’ve isolated the frequency they’re operating on, it’s only a matter of pulling their transmissions and translating the data.” 

“Alright, everyone, you know what to do. As soon as we have a lock on those cruisers, take them out. Refrain from engaging with the mother fleet unless push comes to shove, priority after knocking out those cruisers will be to fall back. Warp eight all the way to Starbase 12, Mr. Sulu.” 

“Captain, what about - ?”

Jim slapped the wall of the bridge affectionately. “Don’t worry, I always come crawling back to my girl. Regardless of my whereabouts, aboard this vessel or not, the safety of this crew takes precedence.” He stepped into the turbolift and was halfway turned to face the bridge. “Mr. Spock, you have the co - ”

“Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.” Spock cut him off mid order, his tone leaving the bridge ten degrees colder. He stepped into the lift behind Jim and engaged the lock. Once descending, he rounded on Jim with abject fury stark in the lines of his body. His eyes were dark, hard slits and his jaw clicked noisily in the quiet lift. “Explain yourself.” He sounded guttural and Jim was reminded of prehistoric Spock. Jim laughed and it was just as ugly of a sound. “Explain my - ? You’re my second in command, I don’t answer to you. I don’t care if you disagree with my decisions; I’ll always listen to your ideas and feedback during working hours out of respect for our professional relationship, but do not undermine me in front of my crew or make demands of me ever again.” 

Spock watched him hotly for a long minute. His expression, as always, unreadable. His fists flexed at his sides and Jim worried he’d take a page from the OG Spock and try to beat the pure life out of him. Instead, Spock took a yawning step into his space. He bracketed Jim’s head between strong forearms. Jim reared back, his skull smacked the paneling. “Spock, what - ?!”

“Do not put your life at risk.” 

Jim felt warmth spread like a rash from beneath his shirt collar and up the column of his throat. It was hard to maintain the integrity of the walls he’d put in place between him and this version of Spock. This Spock had used and disrespected him from the minute he materialized in his reality, but he was still a version of Spock. A version of the ridiculous Vulcan he’d fallen in (chronically one sided) love with. And fuck, why did he finally decide to admit that to himself now. Reinforcing the steel in his veins, he shoved past Spock’s arm cage with a scoff. The turbolift whispered to a halt and its doors snicked open. Jim brushed past his First, but was chagrined to find Spock trailed him through the process of prepping for their off-ship rendezvous. Despite his numerous formal protests, Spock was adamant about accompanying him aboard the shuttlecraft. They were suited up, armed to the teeth, and strapped into a small craft meant for speed and maneuverability within twenty minutes of leaving the bridge. 

The remaining 35.769 minutes spent hurtling through open space to the midway point passed much more slowly. In a weird twist on their usual interaction, Spock was the one trying to draw him into conversation. Jim rebuffed every time. “Captain, I - ”

“Spock.” He silenced him sharply. “I. Don’t. Care. Unless it’s somehow related to this mission, I really don’t want to hear it. Save all that for Uhura when we get back.” He snorted at himself. He sounded so petty. Spock stared holes into the side of his face, but Jim refused to turn his head. He stared fixedly at the console spitting updated readouts. Jim had grown adept at reading his First Officer, and this version was almost no different. He was feeling extremely conflicted, from what Jim could tell. He never expected for the Jim of this reality to say “no” -- and perhaps he never would have. Spock assumed that his Jim was so deeply in love with him, so addicted and attached, he would content himself with whatever table scraps Spock deigned to give him. Jim couldn’t tell the extent of this Spock’s feelings for his Jim. 

He obviously felt something, at least a physical desire strong enough to make him cheat on Uhura. If he felt anything more than that, it was a mystery to Jim. He could harbor a repressed love for his Jim, but refuses to act on it so that his reputation as a Vulcan remains protected. Uhura wasn’t a Vulcan, but she was certainly a more logical choice of partner than Jim (and boy, did that hurt to think about). So this Spock took whatever parts of Jim he could indulge in safely. In any case, he didn’t want his relationship/agreement with Jim to end, to the point where he was putting up a fight and acting out of character. His musings were cut short as their scanners alerted them to the oncoming vessel. They were entering the midway zone, as was the enemy cruiser. It was a Keldon-class cruiser turned shuttlecraft, small for what it was but bigger than their craft. The Cardassian ship caught them in its gravity field, and they were slowly reeled into her shuttlebay.

A different kind of tension gripped them. The kind that traps the breath in your lungs and puts an ache in your muscles, the kind that comes with looking down a barrel. Their cruiser came to rest gently on its belly, the hangar door closing behind them. Jim was surprised to find only the Captain and one guard awaiting them in the bay. He was honestly expecting to be ambushed right out the gate. They exited their ship calmly, not bothering to hide the phasers strapped to their hips. “Captain Kirk, I am pleased that you agreed to meet. To show that we mean no immediate ill will, I have also come alone with only one man to accompany.” The Cardassian greeted. He was even slimier in person, Jim was unsurprised to find. “Thanks for having us, I guess.” Jim started snidely. Spock glared at him from his peripherals. “You know who I am, this is my second in command, First Officer Spock. We still don’t know how to address you, I’m afraid.”

The Cardassian ‘hmm’-ed and nodded. “Quite true. I am Captain Skiran Khatu of the Cardassian Guard’s primary fleet, I hold the rank of Gul-Tar.” 

“Cool, so what did you want to talk about.”

Khatu’s face lost its humored expression. “I’d appreciate it if you took this more seriously, given the precarious position your ship and crew are in.” Jim stiffened at the threat. Khatu gestured to his companion. “My subordinate will now confiscate your weapons and communication devices.” 

Spock tensed, and Jim could tell he wanted to grab his phaser, but had enough discipline to wait on Jim’s response. Before Jim could decide on whether turning over their gear was the right call, the Enterprise made her move. A voice crackled through the comm at Khatu’s waist, it spit a couple sentences of gibberish. It was full of clicks and aggressive noises from the back of one’s throat. Jim didn’t need to speak the language to know that voice was relaying the destruction of the Cardassian shadow crafts that previously had the Enterprise over a barrel. Khatu and his guard experienced a moment of shock before fumbling with the phasers at their sides. Khatu snatched the comm and brought it to his mouth, “kah agk ba!” Jim translated that to mean ‘get your asses to the hangar bay.’ 

“Spock, ship!” Spock was already moving to obey. His phaser was drawn and trained on the Cardassian Captain and his guard, prepared to offer Jim cover as he skirted for the ship. Khatu fell back, but his guard was firing off shaky blasts at Jim. Spock returned fire, but Jim took a shot to the back of his calf. He crumpled, and Spock was suddenly draped over him like a human shield. Jim fired a couple shots at the guard, his aim proving superior, and left the Cardassian stunned. “Spock, get to the ship, now.” He ordered through clenched teeth. 

“I will not leave the Enterprise without a Captain.” Monotonous as always, but the tension in his face impossible to mask. He yanked Jim to his feet and hauled them both into the cruiser. The Cardassian reinforcements chose that moment to pour into the hangar, like ants, Jim thought. They rained colorful fire on the cruiser, the sounds of their unified phasers like ghostly shrieks off the walls of the bay. Jim’s legendary bad luck reared its head, and he took a second hit through the slit of the ship door as it was closing. To top it off, a hole through the lung is a little harder to repair than one through the calf. “Bones is gonna be so pissed.” He groaned, coughing wetly into the crook of his arm. Blood spackled his sleeve when he pulled back. Fuck.

Spock was at his side and grabbing him by the upper arms. His hands felt like too--tight shackles. He almost thought he could feel Spock’s mind trying to reach him through his shirt, desperate for skin to lick at. “Allow me to assess your wound.”

“No! We don’t have time to play Doctor, Spock. Get us the fuck out of this hangar!” 

Spock was visibly hesitant and it pissed Jim off. He forced Spock to meet his eyes. “Stop pretending like you give a single shit about me and do. Your. Job.” He spat. Seemingly shocked into action, Spock robotically placed himself at the helm. If he couldn’t aid his injured Captain, he’d get them to a place where he could. His hands were sure and steady across the display, as he’d committed himself to a new objective. Destroy the enemy, escape. Drawing power to the ship’s weapon systems, Spock tore the hangar bay apart and reduced its hostile inhabitants to ash. They blasted through the hangar doors; it took several rounds of phaser fire and photon missiles, but Spock made it happen. The endless void of space that enveloped them was a comfort. Jim commed the Enterprise, and Sulu greeted him tightly. “Sulu, are you able to lock onto our positions and beam us aboard? We’re headed back your way.” He wheezed between every other word, holding in a thick cough. 

“Aye, Captain! We believe all shadow crafts have been eliminated, we’ve taken no more surprise hits since destroying three of their cloaked vessels. The mother fleet has locked onto our position and appear to be fanning out, they’re trying to box us in.” 

“Alright, you have five minutes. If Mr. Spock and I have not been beamed aboard within that time, I’m ordering you to fall back to Starbase 12, maximum warp.” 

“...yes, Captain.” His hesitance was understandable. Letting the comm clatter to the floor, Jim flopped onto his back. Breathing was painful and difficult, and becoming more so by the minute. He touched the tender flesh along his ribs, feeling the misshapen hole and the cooling blood that had seeped through his shirt. Just that light graze of fingers had pain flushing through him. He let his head smack the floor, a groan ragged from his throat. Spock set the ship to autopilot and joined Jim on the floor. He peeled his top up over his pectorals and immediately applied pressure to the area. An extensive scan of Jim’s wound via tricorder left Spock whiter than usual. The skin around his eyes tightened. “We must get you to McCoy within approximately - ”

“Spock.” He huffed. Even if they were beamed directly to sickbay in the next ten seconds, the chances of repairing Jim’s punctured lung before he succumbed to oxygen deprivation and blood loss were too slim to mention. He knew it, Spock knew it. All Jim could hope for now was that this wasn’t the actual end and he’d wake in another (preferably his own) reality. If it was the end, damnit, at least he went out saving lives like his old man. “Don’t worry about it. Take care of the Enterprise for me.” He felt like he was choking, drowning. Another violent, hacking cough had blood filling his mouth and cleaving red paths down his jaws and neck. Spock made a noise unlike Jim had ever heard from him before, not counting pre--Surakian Spock. A shuddery, pitching half--sob like he was losing something more important than his life. Jim was shocked to find Spock crying. His eyes were closed and his brow barely pinched, but it was more emotion than Jim had ever seen on that face. 

“Jim.” His hands shook where they cradled the cage of his broken ribs. “Forgive me.”

Jim sighed, an odd thing to do given he was literally taking his last few breaths. Why did he need to spend his final moments consoling someone else, especially an alternate version of Spock who’s treated him like shit right up until his death? Raising his hand to cup the clean cut of Spock’s face, he wiped his thumb through tears going cold on that apple--flushed cheek. “I have no idea how you really feel, I’ve never been able to tell. But I love you.” 

Spock placed his fingers at the psy--points in Jim’s face. Jim only had a moment to comprehend the gravity of that, he wanted to say ‘don’t, don’t meld with me, you don’t want to feel me leave.’ Fortunately, Spock made no attempt at delving into his mindscape. He allowed Jim access to his own instead. What Jim discovered there had him nearly sobbing, if only he had the energy. Guilt and regret were forefront in Spock’s mind, and it was an absolutely soul--crushing combo. The emotions pulsed through him and left his chest hurting for reasons other than the hole in it. Spock was having to confront the worst mistake he’d ever made, and also that there would be no do--overs or chance for reconciliation. Next, Jim felt love, and he could tell Spock himself was only now realizing that’s what it was. It was deep, abyssal, alive. Wading through this Spock’s love for his Jim was the most bittersweet thing he’d experienced to date. 

Spock loved him, more than anything. But it took his goddamn death for Spock to accept that. This also wasn’t his reality, wasn’t his Spock. If he ever made it home, he’d have to see his Spock every day, work by his side, with the taste of his love burnt into his memories. And they’d only ever be memories. Jim whimpered, tears racing into his hairline. He could barely make out the details of Spock’s face even though it hovered less than a foot from his. Breathing also felt like a serious chore; more trouble than it was worth. Cold, he thought. He was fucking freezing. As their surroundings gave way to the telltale blue lights of the transporter and Spock shouted at him to stay lucid, Jim had but one thought.

‘Next time I die better be instant, because this is bullshit.’


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one feels a little too familiar.

Jim roused what felt like minutes later. It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with his eyes and other senses. He felt the familiar scratch of a wool throw Winona had knitted for him as a toddler, and a drab ceiling sprinkled with morning sun stared back at him. Jim noted a sound he’d woken to many times in the past, the soft tap and scratch of fingers burning across a PADD. Turning his head, he saw Bones hunched over their shared workspace. The little desk lamp washed him out, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and the unhealthy pallor of his skin. Jim suspected the lamp was hot to the touch from sitting on all night. This was his and Bones’ shared dorm back at the Academy. He was disappointed but unsurprised. 

Memories from the last reality, namely the deathbed meld he shared with Spock, were still hot and sharp in his brain. Tears sprung to his eyes and he quickly blinked them away. Huffing a watery breath, he pushed into a sitting position. Winona’s throw, knitted from her favorite chunky yarn, fell around his waist. He fingered the timeworn material and was unsure what to feel. Bones turned to bid him good morning, and Jim could tell he was relieved to have a distraction from whatever project had kept him up. “You’re up early, thought for sure you’d be dead to the world til’ noon.” He groused. 

Jim chuckled at the turn of phrase, given he’d died twice already. If Bones was expecting him to sleep in, the Jim of this reality must’ve stayed out late at a bar or party. Jim shrugged. “What can I say, you’re an inspiration, Bones. Burning all that midnight oil, you make me want to be a better cadet.” 

Bones scoffed. “Look at that, it only took three years for you to give a shit.” 

Jim blew a kiss at his grouchy roommate, which Bones pretended to knock out of the air. He put on an exaggerated look of disgust. “I know where those lips have been.”

Jim laughed, but his mind was racing. Three years, Bones said. Jim cast a searching gaze for his own PADD, then remembered he usually stowed it beneath his pillow while it charged. He was pleased to find it in that very spot. They engaged in a few more minutes of affectionate ribbing as Bones readied himself for the day. As soon as the door closed on his back, Jim got lost in an hour’s worth of research. Beginning with the current stardate and ending with his class schedule, he came to a distressing conclusion. He was in the right reality, just four years too early. Everything about his life was just as he remembered it, from his accelerated curriculum to the most recent message he’d sent from his PADD (a lazy “will have to get back to you” to Gaila, she wanted to know when they could meet up again). According to his ‘to do’ list for the day, he was scheduled his third attempt at the Kobayashi Maru. 

A cold sweat broke across his brow, and he was momentarily seized by panic. If this was truly his timeline, and today was his third attempt at beating the Kobayashi, then tomorrow he’d be brought up on disciplinary charges by Spock for cheating. Tomorrow, his hearing would be disrupted by a distress call from Vulcan. The day after that, Vulcan will cease to exist. Jim let the PADD drop and buried his face in his hands. In the previous two realities he’d hijacked, they weren’t his reality. He hadn’t had to worry about mucking up the timeline with his actions. Now he was in his own past, armed with the time and knowledge to stop terrible things from happening. But how would that alter his present? Would he still be Captain of the Enterprise? More importantly, would saving Vulcan cause something even more devastating to happen in its place? Balance, and all that. Jim contemplated offing himself, but even that left questions. He was now almost certain death is what taxies him through space and time, but if this timeline is his own, killing himself now might end the cycle. If Jim Kirk dies as a cadet, how would Captain Jim Kirk of the USS Enterprise four years from now start hopping timelines in the first place? He’d be dead. There was only one irrefutable fact about his situation. 

He was completely in the dark. He had no idea how or why this was happening to him, if these interdimensional pitstops were following a pattern or totally random. He didn’t know how long he’d remain trapped in this cycle of dying and waking somewhere new; did he need to die naturally to make the jump or could he kill himself over and over? He’d landed in his own past, days away from one of the worst catastrophes the Federation had ever dealt with. How could he justifiably sit on his hands and watch it all unfold? Was he meant to do something? Jim figured he ought to start with Spock. His First Officer seemed to be a common theme in these “leaps” thus far. He did his best to quantify and categorize the thoughts and emotions whipping through him like a tempest. Mind made up, he threw on a wrinkled set of cadet reds and left his dorm in search of Spock. 

He wasn’t hard to find, given he was a teacher with a fixed itinerary. His advanced xenolinguistics course was coming to its end, and Jim idled nervously in the corridor. He had no idea what to do or say to this version of Spock. ‘Hey, I know we’ve literally never met, but you fuck me on the reg in alternate realities and your home planet is about to be destroyed by psychotic Romulans from the future’? Jim couldn’t picture that one going over well. The melodic, two--tone bell sounded, and it took but a minute for students to pour out from their lecture halls. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he stepped into the near empty classroom. Spock was posted up behind his modest desk, arranging a few PADDs in his satchel. Uhura leaned against the edge of the desk. Her ass looked extra plump in the way it was perched, and Jim was weirdly annoyed by the display. She caught sight of him first; her expression moved from surprise to distaste. Her dislike of him was watered down compared to the seething hatred he had to endure from Uhura of the previous reality, fortunately. “Kirk.” She spat.

“Uhura.” He winked. “Spo -- uh, professor.” He corrected hastily. Remembering how uptight Spock had been, even before the sudden loss of his planet and people, Jim wanted to be respectful in this first interaction. Spock pinned him with a speculative stare. “Cadet Kirk.” He greeted tonelessly. Jim got the feeling his reputation had preceded him yet again, never in a way that was beneficial to him. “To what do I owe this impromptu visit?” 

“Right...” Jim cleared his throat awkwardly, because his showing up was definitely out of the blue. Well, they only had one thing in common, “I actually wanted to talk with you about the Kobayashi Maru, if you had a minute. I’m sure you’re aware that I’m scheduled my third attempt later today.”

Spock’s dark eyes brightened with realization of some kind. He inclined his head. “I see. Cadet Uhura, if you wouldn’t mind allowing us a moment?” 

Uhura bristled at being so easily dismissed by her love interest (as Jim was meant to learn much later), but understood this wasn’t a conversation she should be privy to. She was supposed to be part of his “bridge crew” during the simulation. “Of course.” She gritted through a tight smile, before taking her leave. Her long ponytail flicked back and forth over her tailbone, like an irate mare batting at flies. Once she’d rounded the corner out of sight, they both returned attention to the other. Spock looked as expectant as any Vulcan could. Jim mentally scratched his head. He had no idea what to say now that they were alone. “Um, so...can you explain your thought process to me, regarding the test? I’m just a little confused as to why there’s no discernible way of winning or salvaging the situation?”

“I’m afraid these are details I’m unable to share with you, given that you plan to take the test a third time.” Spock said dryly, standing and slipping the satchel across his shoulder. Jim, desperate to keep Spock from leaving, said “it’s fear, right? Or acceptance of it. There is no secret answer or riddle that will solve things, the simulation wasn’t programmed with a way to win.” Of course Jim had known this for years, since Spock publically humiliated him at his disciplinary hearing, but he pretended to have just realized it. Spock looked him over thoughtfully, as though he’d thought Jim too dumb to ever reach the right conclusions. “If you’ve realized this, Cadet Kirk, why take the test again? You understand the outcome will always be the same.”

“Well, Spock...” Jim smiled a cheesed out, toothy thing. “I don’t accept that there exists such a thing as a ‘no--win’ scenario. And I never, ever will, no matter who or how many people try to convince me otherwise.” 

Spock looked taken aback for half a second. “How...illogical.” 

“And, I have to be honest with you, Spock.” Jim took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “I need to talk to you about something else. You’re an extremely logical guy, so there’s a huge chance you won’t believe a word I say. Which, I guess that’s fine, but I know you’re the one I need to tell.” He found Spock’s eyes with his and tried to communicate his utter seriousness through stare--power. He needed Spock to know that this wasn’t a joke or game, wasn’t another example of ‘Kirk’s foolish antics.’ Something in Spock responded to him. Suspicion tightened his face and body language, but he agreed to hear Jim out. They carried their conversation over to one of the Academy’s many parks. This one happened to face the bay and time--tested San Francisco bridge. The walk over was stiff and awkward, like it used to be during those first few weeks as Captain and Commander of the Enterprise. Once they settled on a bench, the vibe between them seemed to loosen. Jim released a breath he’d been holding since they left the classroom, or so it felt like. 

“What is it you wished to discuss, Cadet?” Spock was facing the bay as he asked. He seemed uncomfortable, from what Jim could gauge. 

“Okay, so. There’s a million things I want to say and I kind of wish I could say them all at once, but I can’t. So...” Jim wrung his hands in his lap. “I’m in the wrong time.” He rushed out. That successfully grabbed all of Spock’s attention, and the Vulcan turned to look at him. Jim continued. “This is my third, interdimensional leap, Spock. My third reality. I could be completely fucking up my own future by having this conversation with you, but I think I’m supposed to, maybe. I woke up in this reality this morning, and after doing some research, I believe this is my reality, except the past. I’ve lived through this already, I belong four years in the future. But before this, I was in an alternate reality. My life was similar, but things were very different.” Jim was listening to himself ramble, and fuck, he sounded insane. Spock’s expression grew increasingly dark as he ranted. When Jim paused to further gauge him, he made to stand. “Cadet Kirk, I’m sorry, but the complexities of human pranks escape me -- ”

Jim grabbed his forearm where sleeve covered skin, making sure not to touch his exposed wrist. “Nash tor ri wuh kha'wal!” (this is not a joke.) 

Spock froze. When he looked at Jim again, his wide eyes betrayed his human half. He was undoubtedly wondering how Jim knew a single syllable of Vulcan, let alone the correct flow and enunciation of each word. He slowly sat back down, his gaze never leaving Jim. “Du stariben Vuhlkansu?” (you speak Vulcan.)

“Ish-veh's wuh wu var.” (it’s a long story.) Jim sighed deeply, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Look, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m telling the truth. I would say you could meld with me to verify what I’m saying, but I know you wouldn’t be comfortable with something like that. I just...I need you to believe me, even if for just a minute.” 

Spock straightened his back a little and turned back to face the bay. “Per your account, you’re traveling through different realities and points in time, and you believe this to be your correct timeline. What is your method of travel, and how did this begin?” 

Jim felt like an invisible hand released its vice grip on his heart. Spock was asking questions, which meant he was taking this somewhat seriously. “As far as I can tell, death is my method of travel. Unless this is some fucked--up afterlife, I move from one reality to the next after dying. Fortunately, I didn’t stay long in either reality before meeting some kind of terrible fate, so it leads me to think that’s the only way I can ‘jump’ to the next. I have no control over where I wake up.” 

Spock frowned. His brows drew together as he thought. Jim continued, “I also have no idea what happened to start this. When I woke in the first reality, I was missing the past twenty--four hours from my memory.”

Spock ‘hmm’-ed. “I see.” More eye contact. “Earlier, you stated that you ‘think you’re supposed to be’ sharing these details with me; why? We have never met.”

Jim felt his ears burn. “Uh, well...” All he could think of was caveman Spock calling him beautiful and asshole Spock calling him a slut as he fucked into him from behind. “We get to know each other.” He finished lamely. Spock looked doubtful, but also conflicted. They shared a brief, heavy silence before Jim cleared his throat. “There’s more.” His nerves had returned, not that they’d gone far. “I really don’t want to fuck up my own timeline, but...something terrible is about to happen.”

Spock frowned again. “If you’re speaking the truth, then perhaps you shouldn’t - ” 

“I know, I know, but...I can’t sit on this, Spock.” 

Spock held his stare, witnessed the trauma and stress in their blue depths, and nodded for him to continue. Jim exhaled hard from his nose, “tomorrow, we’re going to receive a distress call from Vulcan.” Spock stiffened beside him to the point where Jim thought his spine might snap. “I’m not the only one disrupting this timeline. Technically, this reality is about to become an alternate one in itself. It’s our reality, but it would have turned out very different for us if not for its disruption; twenty five years ago, and again tomorrow.” 

“Elaborate.” Spock bit out. 

“Vulcan is about to be under attack by...by Romulans, from the future. They’re the same group of Romulans that murdered my father, Captain of the USS Kelvin for no more than eight minutes before it was destroyed. His ship came under attack by the Narada, a Romulan freighter, as it was exiting a wormhole. It had come from the future, 129 years to be precise. Since the destruction of the Kelvin, the Narada has been idling, waiting for the right moment to make its move.” Spock was more still and silent than a corpse. Jim made fists in his hair, yanking on the short strands. “I know how this sounds, like total fiction, but Spock, I swear on my life - ” 

“Kirk.” His voice was strained. He was asking without asking. Jim dug his front teeth into the meat of his bottom lip. His silence was enough of an answer, it seemed. Spock suddenly stood. “As you have said, this is all fiction until proven otherwise. I will handle any situation that develops, as it develops.” 

Jim also stood. “Okay.” He agreed, completely serious. They again made eye contact, and it was some of the most intense eye contact he’s shared with any Spock. “What am I to you?” Spock asked, and it felt so out of character. Jim knew what kind of a man this version of Spock was, and for him to ask such a sentimental question was disquieting. Jim was momentarily shocked into silence. His mouth dried up as he remembered dying in Spock’s arms, the abyssal depth of his love flooding into his mind as the life bled out of him. How was he supposed to answer that? “I...we...work together. We’re friends.” Jim stumbled through his answer, and it sounded like a half--truth even to his ears. Spock’s stare remained hard and soul--scouring for a moment longer, before he started off down the slight slope. “You’re due in building 3A for the Kobayashi Maru simulation in approximately 10.3 minutes.” 

Jim knew that was as close to an ‘are you coming?’ as he’d get. With a grin that felt wrong to have given their situation, he jogged after his future First Officer. The silence they shared on the way out of the park was much more companionable, but Jim could tell all that he’d said was weighing heavily on Spock. When they arrived at the testing facility, they parted ways; Jim off to prep for the simulation and Spock to oversee it. Jim is thankful Uhura doesn’t see them approach together. He changes into the mandatory, navy jumpsuit and arrives on the “bridge” -- Bones is already changed and seated at his station, the helm. The rest of his “crew” is also present. As Jim plops his tightly--wrapped ass into the command chair and whips out a few childish spins, Bone lectures him for his late arrival. “What the hell, Jim? The damn test starts in five minutes!” 

Jim feels awkward acting so carefree with Spock watching, considering he’d just dropped apocalypse--level bombs on the guy. He needed to continue acting like the Jim Kirk of this time would, did. He acted like an immature asshole. He did make an executive decision to forego the apple, however. The simulation ran just as it did four years ago. Uhura sassed him, Bones lowkey questioned their friendship, then his subroutine kicked in. The power was momentarily disrupted as the system rebooted itself. When the screens shone bright with imaginary data once again, he ordered helm to fire on the warbirds. The Klingons were forced to draw back, the crew of the Kobayashi rescued. Jim flashed a cocky smile at the observation window, knowing Spock was one of those looking down at him. 

The next day, true to his stiff and logical nature, Spock reported him for misconduct despite the implications of their earlier conversation. Jim was called to stand trial at the tribunal. He asked to face his accuser, and was unsurprised when Spock stepped down to join him at the adjacent podium. Spock looked much more unsure of himself than Jim remembered when all this had happened for the first time. They engaged in mostly the same banter, before a messenger swooped in to relay a whispered message to Komack. Jim never looked away from Spock, as if saying, “see?” 

“We’ve received a distress call from Vulcan.” Komack started. The ensuing maelstrom happened somewhat as Jim remembered it, but also much differently. Spock approached him immediately, right in the middle of the administrative hall, as their fellow superiors and subordinates rushed from the room and on to their respective stations. “Kirk.” Spock said, and he was actually saying ‘I believe you, tell me what to do.’ Spock was the one to sneak him aboard the Enterprise instead of Bones, though they were briefly intercepted by Uhura in the shuttlebay. She was demanding a ship transfer, and Spock was quick to cave and grant it to her. Jim wasn’t sure if he’d folded like a wet tissue just to speed things along, or because of his romantic involvement with her. In any case, they all made it onto the Enterprise and things proceeded much like Jim remembered them, except the tension between he and Spock was of an altogether different kind. Instead of Jim waking from his medically induced coma midwarp and screaming ‘it’s a trap!’ on the bridge, they were able to discuss their findings with Pike before any of their fleet could phase into warp. 

Pike was reasonably suspicious, but he trusted Spock implicitly. Kirk laid out the facts: lightning storm, Kelvin, Romulans. Uhura backed him up regarding the subspace frequency she’d translated two evenings ago. Pike sent a fleetwide transmission alerting his fellow Captains of the potential trap they were warping into. After a tense confab, lasting maybe three minutes, with the other starship Captains, they agreed to come out of warp on the opposite side of Vulcan. They also agreed to scatter the fleet, so as not to appear out of warp as one big target. All the while, Jim couldn’t help but stew on just how much of his own timeline he was changing. He was terrified of waking in his own reality, right where he’d left off, but unable to recognize any of it. As they came out of warp, their fleet idling in Vulcan space, the Narada was immediately visible on their scanners. They were targeted and fired on shortly after, but scattering their vessels seemed to take the Romulans by surprise. Heavy losses were still sustained.

True to memory, their ship was hailed by the Narada and a brief ceasefire quieted the space they all occupied. Nero’s smug, drugged--out face filled their main bridge screen. He made jibes at Spock, which confused the Vulcan, before demanding Pike come aboard their ship via shuttlecraft to negotiate a more permanent ceasefire. Jim remembered being in a similar situation in the last reality, but these Romulans were far greater a threat than the Cardassian’s had been. He died during that engagement, just as Pike nearly dies during this one. Pike calls them both into the turbolift after the transmission cuts out, both he and Spock mouthing off at his sides. They argue against shuttling over, but Pike’s made up his mind. He names Spock Captain, Jim First Officer. Even as it happens a second time, Jim hasn’t the slightest clue what possessed Pike to give him a command position. He wasn’t cleared for duty, he was a damn stow away.

Pike continued his quick trek to the shuttlebay, leaving Jim and Spock to acclimate to their new roles. They made the same peculiar eye contact, and Jim turned to follow after Pike. Unlike before, Spock stopped him with a quick hand around his forearm. “Kirk.” He said tightly. “You have lived these events.” 

“Yes, I have.” He answered evenly. “Spock, I can’t say much because I’ve already changed a lot of things, but listen to me.” He turned fully to face his Captain. “As soon as you have the opportunity, you need to beam down to the surface. Your parents and the high council should be in the sept, you need to get them.” He stressed. Spock blinked, before realization dawned. The skin around his eyes and mouth wrinkled in a clear, at least to Jim, sign of worry. Before he could rush off, Jim said, “Oh, and you should probably call me Jim now.” 

The sharp point of his brow shot into his hair, and Jim left him with a laugh hearty over his shoulder. He joined Sulu and Chief Engineer Olson in the hangar to gear up for their space jump. How Olson managed a position like Chief Engineer, Jim would never know. As he pulled the clingy spandex across his body, Jim felt far more relaxed this go around. They’d somehow managed to pull this insane stunt off last time, and two out of three made it back alive and uninjured. He felt confident they could do it again. As they waited for Pike to give the ready, he noticed the suit was a little tighter than he remembered; fuck, had he gained weight? “You’re into fencing, right?” He looked at Sulu. Sulu smiled, pleasantly surprised. “Yeah, since I could walk.” He laughed nervously. 

“Ready to jump.” Pike called. His fingers jumped across the console. They stood, their translucent faceplates sliding into place. A door snicked into place between them and the cockpit, protecting Pike from the crushing pull of space. “Gentlemen, we’re approaching the dropzone. You have one shot to land on that platform. They may have defenses, so pull your shoot as late as possible. Three...two...one -- ” 

Their bodies were snatched upwards. With backs resting against the ceiling, bodies held in uncomfortable suspension, tension gripped them and butterflies exploded in their guts. “Remember, the Enterprise won’t be able to beam you back until you turn off that drill.” Pike’s reminder did nothing to ease their nerves. “Good luck.” Seconds later, they were sucked from the shuttle and hurtling through dead space. The pull of Vulcan’s atmosphere drew them to the planet’s surface at an absolutely dizzying speed. The silence of space, broken only by their quick breaths, was disconcerting. One would assume moving at such high speeds to be a loud experience, but it was all too quiet until they broke the atmospheric barrier. Vulcan’s waning sun was like a spotlight, blinding them as they made their descent. “Kirk to Enterprise, distance to target 5,000 meters.”

“4,500 meters and counting!”

“4,000 meters -- ”

“3,000 meters!” 

“2,000 meters.”

“Pulling shoot!” Sulu announced. The sharp slide of fabric sounded as his shoot ripped from its pack and swelled with air. Instead of dying a foolhardy death like he did the first go ‘round, Olsen was the next to pull his shoot, seconds after Sulu. Jim was glad for it, until he went to pull his own shoot. His heart seized up in his chest as he yanked frantically on the cord; it was stuck. He couldn’t pull his shoot. “My shoot’s stuck! I can’t pull my shoot!” He yelled. Terror was a stark, ugly thing in his voice. Shocked silence gripped the bridge, before Spock was out of the command chair and hunched over Chekov’s station “We need to beam him aboard.” He snapped. Chekov looked between his acting Captain and the helm, at a clear loss. “I-I can’t, Keptin! We are unable to beam anyone aboard until the drill is deactivated!” He blubbered. Spock stared holes through the main display, his eyes tracking Kirk’s blue dot as it careened clear past the drill. “Kirk to Enterprise! Spock!” Kirk’s panicked voice drew Spock back to the command chair. 

“I’m here, Kirk.”

“It didn’t happen like this last time!” He laugh--shouted, but sounded like he wanted to cry. Those tuned into their comm channel were confused by the ensuing back and forth, but Spock knew. He was at a loss for words, however. The wind screamed around Jim as he plummeted to his death. His quickening breaths and small whimpers were hard to listen to, and Spock marveled at the horrible feeling in his chest and throat. His hands trembled, he couldn’t breathe. “Kirk -- ”

“I told you to call me Jim.” Though he was still having to shout over the wind, he sounded calm. “Jim.” Spock agreed solemnly.

“11,000 meters from the planets surface, closing rapidly.” Chekov reported with tears in his big, green eyes. His voice was thick and wobbly. 

“It’s okay! I’m pretty sure there will be another one after this.” Jim said, and Spock knew he meant another reality. “‘Pretty sure’ is not an accurate estimate of statistical likelihood.”

Jim laughed, and Spock knew he was also crying. “You’re right, this is total bullshit.” 

“7,500 meters and closing!”

Even though Vulcan’s red dirt was fast approaching, Jim could barely see it through the tears puddling over his eyeballs. He was beyond frustrated and extremely terrified. Since he believed this to be his actual reality, he had no idea if this death would be a permanent one. If it was, someone in his afterlife had some serious fucking explaining to do. If it wasn’t, he could have completely altered his own timeline. Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise could very well be dead, even if Jim lived to see another wrong reality. Spock’s voice, taut with emotion he struggled to keep in check, crackled through his helmet. “Jim.” Wrecked, devastated. 2,000 meters. Jim swallowed a fresh batch of tears. 1,000 meters. 

“Spock, I’ll see you soon, okay?” He didn’t feel it when he hit the ground.


End file.
